


Unexpected

by Stariceling



Category: Death Note
Genre: M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-13
Updated: 2010-11-13
Packaged: 2017-12-06 02:30:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stariceling/pseuds/Stariceling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>L is nothing Matsuda could have ever expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> I love writing Matsuda's L-obsession. This one is for my BFF slr2moons since she needed a pick-me-up at the time.

L was like no one Matsuda had encountered in his entire life. When he tried to imagine a face to go with the brilliant mind that solved unsolvable crimes the world over he had thought maybe someone like Watari would fit. Maybe a dashing ‘James Bond’ type. Someone straight-laced, like Yagami-san. Even if he had been told how young L really was he probably would have imagined someone like Yagami-san’s serious and proper son.

Instead L was so utterly himself that it made Matsuda uncomfortable to be alone with him. His eyes were eerie, always alert and staring for all that they were sunken into his face. His deathly pale skin, as if he hadn’t seen the sun in years, only made the contrast more striking. He didn’t look as if he had worn a suit a day in his life instead of the loose clothes that hung on his lanky frame. He went barefoot most of the time, putting his feet on the furniture without a thought.

Everything about him made Matsuda uncomfortable in his own head. It wasn’t the otherness of L, because how could he really expect such a great man to conform to his blind expectations? His discomfort sprung from the unfamiliar thoughts that darted through his mind in L’s presence.

Matsuda, who had never taken any particular notice of anyone’s feet, found himself studying L’s almost obsessively. Just the smooth perfection of taunt skin drew Matsuda’s eye. The way his tendons stood out when he curled his toes made Matsuda want to trace them with his fingers. Not to mention the elegant curve of his ankles. Matsuda had probably traced those feet with his eyes until he knew them by heart, because every other part of L’s body just seemed off limits. L was far too important to touch even with his eyes.

Not that Matsuda hadn’t caught himself staring over and over. A glimpse of the line of L’s collarbone when the collar of his shirt fell just right, the velvety nape of his neck, or the soft roundness of an earlobe all tempted Matsuda’s eyes. He had found himself transfixed by the grains of sugar that lingered on L’s lips as he nibbled the edges from sugar cubes.

More than anything, he watched L’s hands. Those long fingers moved in ways that were nimble, intricate, almost alien. The faintest gesture became a fascination. Matsuda pretended to himself that he had never imagined what it would fell like if those perfect hands were to touch him, but his attention fixed on them quickly enough if he let it. Just add a smudge of ink, or a trace of stickiness, to those fingers and it took all of his willpower to fight the distraction.

And sometimes, no matter how he tried to fight it, there was nothing he could do but stare.

L had dragged his arm through a half-eaten slice of cake while reaching for the papers he wanted. A little icing Matsuda could probably ignore. Probably. But this. . . .

Now he was flipping though his papers with one hand, with his sticky-sweet arm raised to his lips. He cleaned a bit of icing from the smooth inside of his arm with a swipe of his tongue. One firm lick, and then another and another, working towards his wrist with agonizing slowness.

L swallowed, and Matsuda swallowed in response. He watched L’s tongue move to bathe the knobby curve of his wrist, and as L swallowed more icing he swallowed again with a painfully dry throat. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to be the one to clean the icing from L’s hand with his own tongue or if he wanted to feel that nimble tongue on his own body.

Matsuda tried to blot that thought from his mind as soon as he realized what it was. L’s tongue had moved to the heel of his hand, teasing up and down over and over. . . L seemed to still be paying attention to his papers but he looked up when Matsuda swallowed a third time. Matsuda felt his face burn and tried to hide it behind the work he was supposed to be focusing on, but he still couldn’t get rid of the painful lump in his throat.

When he dared to look again, L was sucking the icing from his middle finger. Matsuda felt a sudden familiar heat in his stomach, his balls tightening even as the little scrap of self control he held onto tried to tell him not to let himself be aroused. L was so serious and perfect, how could he know that Matsuda would take something dirty from his absentminded gesture? He almost let out a little squeak of panicked want, and had to swallow the sound before he could even breathe.

“Stop that.”

Matsuda slapped the papers he was holding down into his lap in panic.

“S-stop what?”

“That noise.”

“What noise?”

With a look of supreme boredom, as if Matsuda was trying his patience on purpose, L rose bonelessly to his feet. Seeing the way his whole body moved, smooth and supple and almost sensual, was not helping Matsuda’s mental state. What helped even less was when L approached him. Matsuda thought with a wild flash of insanity that he could smell L, though he was probably just smelling the vanilla on his breath.

L slid one finger over his Adam’s apple and Matsuda swallowed nervously in response.

“That noise.”

“Oh,” Matsuda managed faintly. He brain was rather taken up with the fact that L was touching him, touching his suddenly unbelievably sensitive throat, and that the pad of L’s finger was cool and damp from his saliva.

If Matsuda had been more confident, or more daring, or maybe just a lot more of an idiot, he might have ducked his head and tried to take L’s damp finger between his lips. As it was he could only stare, and the mere thought of it pushed all sensible ideas out of his brain.

L looked him up and down, face showing no hint of either interest or irritation. “The bathroom is over there, on the left,” he informed Matsuda.

“What?” Matsuda managed weakly. He looked down at himself as L had done, and realized with a sudden horror that the papers he had been clutching had slid out of his numb hands, leaving the visible tent in his slacks all too obvious.

“Take care of it so you can get your work done,” was all L had to say. No judgement, no surprise. . . and somehow that made it worse, that L didn’t even blink at how unprofessional Matsuda was being.

Matsuda bolted for the bathroom in shame. He bashed his knee on the low sink in his rush to hide. L was like no one he had ever known, certainly like no one he had ever loved. So why did he let himself be affected like this?

Matsuda turned on the cold tap on the tub and then hesitated. The image of L sucking icing from his middle finger was there every time Matsuda closed his eyes. It still made his body twitch with distasteful excitement. It wasn’t right. L was something apart, singular, untouchable.

But no matter how many times he told himself to focus on his work Matsuda had found himself running over that untouchable skin, if only with his eyes. The next impossible place his mind fell to suddenly seemed inevitable. The sight of L’s hands and feet, his lean body, his lips and tongue, were all burned into Matsuda’s mind. He could still see L any time he closed his eyes.

With one arm braced on the counter, his head down so he wouldn’t have to look himself in the mirror, Matsuda gave in. He left the water running to cover any sound, slipped one hand inside his own slacks. . . and for once he didn’t try to stop himself from thinking of the young genius who was nothing he expected, and everything he wanted.


End file.
